Never
by BlueberryPancakes
Summary: A different kind of Grovette, for me.  Beneath their friendship, Gillette and Groves have a physical, though not romatic or attached, one.


Never

It was nearly dawn; their nights exploit coming to an end. Hot, sweat-slicked bodies ground against each other as they approached their climaxes.

Groves shuttered, tensing as he raised his hips up to meet the final hard thrusts.

Gillette groaned. He fell on top of him and slid to the side, breathing hard.

"That was good."

"Indeed…"

They never cuddled.

"Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Gillette… Have you seen Groves recently?"

"Not today. He might still be in the mess hall."

"Hello, Sir, Gillette. Did I miss anything?"

"No, we were just about to start."

Gillette smiled slightly and nodded once in greeting. He turned his attention back to the Commodore.

Groves returned the nod.

They never felt awkward.

The tavern was crowed. They found a table near the back, settling in for a few drinks after a long day at the fort. It had come to be their table, of sorts, hidden by the shadows from prying eyes.

"It's a pity we couldn't mange to tear the dear Commodore away from his work." Gillette remarked as he took a deep swig from his well-worn mug.

"The world would have to end before that man would leave his desk on time." Groves laughed once, humorlessly.

They never held hands.

"Fancy a tumble tonight?"

"I'll meet you in an hour."

They never refused.

Hands moved quickly, knowing where to touch and how. The oil kept beside the bed was easily found. They never kissed.

He slicked himself quickly, pressing ahead, the other already prepared and waiting. They never bothered with foreplay.

Clothes were taken off unceremoniously, each man undressing himself. That was not why they were there.

They never caressed.

"Groves."

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel the invitation to dinner, tonight. It seems my maid has fallen ill."

"Perfectly all right."

They never took advantage of each other.

"Have you seen Lieutenant Gillette anywhere, Sailor?"

"I believe he just came out of the Commodore's office, Sir. Would you like me to find him for you?"

"No, thank you. I'll find him myself."

"Very well, Sir."

"Gillette!"

The other turned around at the voice, "Yes, Groves?"

They never used first names.

Gillette fell onto his back. The heals of his feet dug into the mattress. He groaned with each thrust, bucking his hips.

Groves tossed his head back, throwing the long, damp hair away from his face.

They never moaned each other's names, in the heights of passion.

In the darkness of the night, there was only them. From the time they came to the room to when they parted ways, the world did not matter. They released all, became anything they wanted to be. There was no fear, no cares.

They never regretted.

The Articles forbid it. They did not care, paid it no mind. It was not something to be displayed; it was between them and them alone. What they chose to do in their own moments was their own business.

They never spoke of duty.

In the daylight hours, precaution was not taken just as a way to save their necks from the noose. There was no need to bring it up. They were Lieutenants of the British Royal Navy; they did not lower themselves to boasting about late-night dealings behind closed doors.

They never talked of it.

They had not been boys for years when they first stumbled upon each other. They had shared rooms, quarters, been friends and crewmates for years.

The night unveiled a new sense of being. There was no need for formality. They knew what the other had come for and why they had.

They never thought of rank.

There were months when they sought out each other nearly every night. Others when they hardly spoke outside of duty.

They never wanted more.

"I still don't know why your dual nature surprises me."

"Duty is one life. This is another."

"See you in the morning."

"Good evening, Groves."

They never said, "I love you." Because it wasn't true.

The sea was a harsh mistress. Her forces were temperamental and her moods in constant shift. Even the most wise of sailors could not turn his back on her, lest he be taken against his will.

They said the life of a man of the sea was that of a condemned man. Their only true mistress would ever be the sea, as she did not share her prizes.

Called to duty when it came, aboard a ship with the course for home uncertain, the sea was all that offered comfort as all were kept from those who had remained on land.

They never felt lonely.

It was physical, entirely different and separated from their friendship, their working relationship. Whenever lust came to knock, whenever drink fogged minds and dulled senses, whenever duty proved trying, whenever life threatened, they were there for each other. As friends, they stood together. As men of honor, they stood side by side.

They were not lovers.

They never made love, only fucked.

The End 


End file.
